The Long Lost Heir
by malfoylover01
Summary: Hermione wakes up in a place that is certainly not Hogwarts. Maids are bowing and scraping every which way. Who do they think she is? And what will she do when she finds out? ON HIATUS
1. WHAT!

A/N: This is the result of an evil, vicious plot bunny. It is probably incredibly sappy, but this picture of Hermione dressed the way I describe her just popped into my head—and by golly, I wanted to know what she was doing wearing a dress like that! So this is the result.

By the way, anyone who spots tributes to Mercedes Lackey and Tamora Pierce gets Oreos!

Added 11/16: This is not a crossover, but there will be familiar elements from various fantasy novels including Tamora Pierce, Mercedes Lackey, and others.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Nor are Oreos. But the plot is.

Chapter One: WHAT?!

Hermione yawned, stretched, and sleepily opened her eyes. Yet another day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As she allowed her eyes to focus, well, as well as they could, she noticed that something was wrong. This was not Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, she had never seen this room before in her life! Without looking around, she called out, "Parvati? Lavender? Where are we?"

There was no answer. She looked around, and discovered that she was the only one in the room. It was painted a bright white, and hung with medieval tapestries and portraits. Midnight blue rugs that appeared to be handwoven lay on the stone floor. She was sitting up in a bed with white silken sheets and a dark blue comforter, and deep blue curtains that had already been drawn back. Looking to her left, she saw a braided gold tassel. Without thinking, she pulled it.

Two maids, wearing long skirts and kerchiefs on their heads, rushed into the room. They curtsied and then stood, heads bowed and hands clasped in front of them.

Hermione said, "Um, excuse me, but where am I?"

The maid on the right answered, "If it pleases the mistress, she is in the most elegant guest room of King Eldan the II."

Hermione said, "Eldan who? Where is he? What country am I in? Where is Hogwarts? Where are my roommates? Where am_ I?_"

The maid said slowly, "King Eldan is the king of this country, the Sapphire Isles. As of this moment, he is taking audiences in the Throne Room. This humble maidservant does not know of a land called Hogwarts, nor its denizens."

Hermione simply sat there, her mouth open in shock. Finally, she asked, "How did I get here?"

The maid answered, "This humble maidservant does not know. The housekeeper simply said King Eldan ordered her to have two maids on call to this room."

Hermione wondered at this. Was it possible that she had been kidnapped? If so, she certainly didn't mind, as this was a very nice place to be kidnapped to. But she had to think about getting home. She asked,

"When might I see this King Eldan?"

The maids answered in unison, "As soon as you're dressed!"

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

'Dear God, what am I wearing?' Hermione thought in disgust as she looked down at herself. A midnight blue, off-the-shoulder gown flowed around her, enunciating every curve of her lush figure. The skirt opened at a woven silver belt, inlaid with sapphires, to reveal a snow-white petticoat. A silver necklace, studded with sapphires, hung around her neck. A lacy, also sapphire-studded tiara, braced against the updo the maids had forced her rebellious hair into, completed the ensemble. The sweetheart neckline was a tad low for her tastes, but it was the highest one in the wardrobe. And there were no pockets, which meant there was no place to put her wand—her wand!

"Excuse me," Hermione called after the departing maids, "but have you seen my wand?"

The talkative maid answered, "What is a wand, lady?"

Hermione said, "Well, it's about nine inches long, and a light brown with a darker handle..."

The blank look on the maids' faces told her it was no use. She sighed; she wasn't a witch without her wand.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Hurry up!" the maid urged. "You wouldn't want to be late."

Hermione walked out the door, following the maid as she wove through a labyrinth of halls. When at last they arrived at the throne room, the maid whispered to the man, dressed in blue (this seemed to be a recurring theme) standing at the door. He nodded and knocked on the doors twice with his staff. When they opened, he announced,

"Lady Hermione!"

Hermione walked down the steep flight of white marble stairs, her hand gliding smoothly along the railing, marveling at how her feet didn't seem connected to her body. When she arrived at the landing, she stood, unsure of where to go.

A handsome man with a few streaks of gray in his coal-black hair, who had been sitting in what appeared to be a throne until she reached the landing, stood up.

"Hermione!" he cried out, a twinkle in his deep blue (again!) eyes, "It's so good to see you again!"

Hermione said, confused, "Do I know you, sir?"

Paying no attention to her, he turned to face the rest of court. Throwing his arms wide, he proclaimed, "My people! I present to you my long-lost heir, Princess Hermione!"

Hermione looked around in shock. Everywhere she looked, people were clapping and cheering. She felt the world shrinking—and everything went black.


	2. Coming to Terms

A/N: Thank you, for reviewing, and thank you Blueflamerose, King Kazul, Rag-Doll-Chey, Raiast, PeanutButterLover, and SnowyOwl-17 for putting me on your author alert list!

OK, I know I mentioned exams, and that this wouldn't be updated for a while, but Draco is sitting on my bed giving me the evil eye. Normally, I'd just talk him out of it, but as my roommate would probably give me weird looks if I tried that (yes, we're both stuck in our room until 9:30, and it's only 8:40), I figured I might as well humor him. I hope you people appreciate me sacrificing my Biology exam for this fic!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Tamora Pierce, or Mercedes Lackey, even though the last two aren't really in the fic.

Chapter Two: Coming to Terms

"I can't believe this!" Hermione sobbed into her pillow, drawing the rather embarrassed glances of the maid currently dusting her room.

She had been yanked from Hogwarts in the middle of the night into a world she had never seen before, called mistress and milady, and now they told her she was a princess! Of all the nerve! They could have at least given her a few days to settle in before they sprung this on her. Of course, it was rather nice, having servants at your beck and call—No! Hermione violently shoved that thought away. 'Remember S.P.E.W., Hermione, remember S.P.E.W.,' she chanted to herself.

The maid gave her an odd look and edged farther away. Hermione muffled a laugh that bordered on the edge of hysteria. Now, on top of everything, they thought she was crazy. Well, they certainly wouldn't want a crazy person for their future queen, would they?

Hermione sat bolt upright. That was it. She could pretend to be a raving lunatic, and then King Eldan would have to find himself another heir.

Then she sank back down. No, that wouldn't work either. She would probably spend the rest of her life locked up in whatever passed for an insane asylum in this country.

She sighed and rolled off the bed. The maid gave her a startled look and scuttled out, gently closing the door behind her. Hermione smiled. That was what she had been waiting for. She immediately began to search the room, looking for her wand, her robes, her uniform—anything that related to her real life.

IIIIII

Several hours later, she sighed and sat back on her heels. Nothing. Not a single scrap of fabric or wood shaving remained of her wand and robes. A single tear rolled down her face. What was she going to do? She assumed she was stuck in an alternate dimension, and that this dimension's Hermione was currently wreaking havoc at Hogwarts, much the way she herself was wreaking havoc here. Another tear mirrored its counterpart's path down her face. She couldn't live here. The stuffy atmosphere would drive her crazy in a week. And the clothes—her ribs hurt _thinking_ about the corset she had worn earlier that day. She knew Parvati and Lavender said beauty was pain, but honestly, did it have to hurt _that_ much?

Thinking about her roommates sent Hermione into a fresh round of tears. As much as she might dislike their boy-chasing ways, she loved the two girls almost as much as she loved Harry and Ron. She wondered dully how long it would take Harry and Ron to figure out that something was wrong. She was sure the other girl had been nobly raised. Maybe it wouldn't take them that long.

IIIIIII

At Hogwarts:

"Ugh! How disgusting," Hermione said snottily, pushing the plate of fried chicken away from her.

Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks. Hermione had been odd all day, but this took the cake. Fried chicken was her favorite food, for crying out loud!

They simultaneously shrugged. It was probably just PMS. Who cared? More for them.

Hermione looked at Ron. "You, commoner, go fetch my bookbag. I wish to look over my notes for the History of the Sapphire Isles exam tomorrow."

Ron looked up from his plate. "Hermione, one, there's no such place as the Sapphire Isles. Two, even if there were, there isn't an exam tomorrow. Three, even if there was, I wouldn't fetch your bookbag for you anyway."

Hermione stood up, her face turning purple. "YOU!" she screamed, loud enough the whole Hall could hear her. "You will not speak to a daughter of House Pheregul in that tone, and you WILL get my bookbag for me, or I will have you flogged!"

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"OK. Hermione, this has gone way beyond PMS. I think we need to go see Dumbledore," Harry said, jerking his head toward Ron and grabbing his own wrist.

Ron nodded and pinioned both Hermione's hands behind her back. They marched her out of the Great Hall, amid shouts of "Get your hands off me, you filthy commoners!" and "It's against the _law_ to lay hands on a woman of the blood!"

When they arrived at the stone gargoyle, Ron and Harry looked at each other. Neither of them knew the password.

"Um, Chocolate Frog?" Harry tried tentatively.

Ron said, "Drooble's Best Blowing Gum?"

The gargoyle didn't move.

Harry said, "Oh, I know! It's that whatchamacallit thing, you know, um—"

The gargoyle moved aside.

Ron said, "Well, we still don't know what the password is, but I guess this'll do."

Harry said, "I know. In the Muggle world, there's a candy bar named Whatchamacallit."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "Whatever."

They marched Hermione up the spiral staircase, and found Professor Dumbledore seated at his desk.

"What seems to be the problem, Messrs. Weasley, Potter, Ms. Granger?"

"Lay off, you old coot!" Hermione screamed.

Dumbledore blinked. "I see."

TBC...


	3. What Are We Going To Do?

A/N: Again! Evil, evil plot bunnies. And muses. And friends.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Star Trek, and Mercedes Lackey and Tamora Pierce's works are not mine, no matter how much I may wish it were so.

Chapter Three: What Are We Going to Do?

Hermione rolled over and yawned. She opened her eyes—and closed them again immediately. Apparently there was no need for an alarm clock here, as the blasted sun took its place rather nicely.

She tried again, this time shading her eyes with her hand. She managed to hold them open for about five seconds, and then they snapped shut.

She sighed softly. Well, it was an improvement.

Suddenly the door flew open. "Milady! Milady! You're late!" cried Maeve, the dark, talkative maid.

"What?" Hermione said groggily.

"You have to go! Hurry, hurry!" cried Jen (short for Guinevere, actually), the other, slightly built blond maid.

"What? What am I late for?"

"You're late for your audiences with His Majesty!"

Hermione began to mutter, "Blasted king. Blasted kingdom. Blasted audiences. Blasted—Oh, blast it all!"

Maeve said, shocked, "Milady should watch her language!"

Hermione just grunted.

The next thing she knew, her covers were on the floor and Maeve and Jen were shaking her.

"Milady! Get up _now_!"

"Fine!" Hermione rolled off the bed and onto the floor. She immediately curled up into a ball and fell back asleep.

Maeve looked at Jen. "This calls for drastic measures," she said.

"Well since she'll have to take a bath anyway..." Jen trailed off and smiled her Evil Grin® (Guinevere Clark, 1197).

Maeve returned with her Smirk® (Maeve Smythesson, 1199).

Hermione woke up to the horrendous feeling of live fish squirming in her nightgown.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" she screamed.

Maeve looked at Jen. "Impressive," she said. "Five exclamation points and twenty-three H's."

"We're getting good at this!" Jen agreed.

"YOU!" Hermione sputtered.

"Yes, milady?" they said in unison.

"I-I-you-" Hermione sputtered. Finally, she gave up and said meekly, "I need a bath."

"Of course, Your Highness," Maeve said. "Just step behind this curtain."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**(A/N: Hey, it's me. I'm sorry about the divider changes-I'm trying to find one that looks nice and still shows up on this site. Back to Hermione and her fishy self!)**

"Mmmm," Hermione moaned. She hadn't realized how much she had wanted a bath. Granted, it was a small wooden tub, and Jen was obviously inexperienced at washing hair, but she didn't care. She finally felt clean, and that was what mattered.

"There!" Jen pronounced. "Now that's done, and you needn't have another one for a month or so!"

Hermione shot out of the tub, gasping. "What!"

"Oh, is that too soon for you, milady?"

"No, quite the contrary! I want a bath a least every other night!"

Maeve and Jen looked at each other, dismayed. "But milady, it's us who has to carry that water up the stairs, and it gets awfully heavy."

Hermione said, "Well then, I'll appropriate some of the men who deliver the to the kitchen to help you with it."

The maids' faces immediately cleared. "Thank you, milady!"

"No problem," Hermione assured them.

Maeve ran to the window and peered up. "Oh no!" she gasped. "The audiences start in two hours!"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, that's plenty-"she started.

She felt the tub being tipped over.

"Hurry! Hurry!" the maids shrieked in unison.

Hermione sighed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At Hogwarts:

Harry and Ron had been in and out of Dumbledore's office all night, until finally, he reached a conclusion, about nine o'clock the next morning.

"I see," Dumbledore said, peering at Hermione over his glasses. "It appears to me, Messrs. Potter and Weasley, that your friend has been caught in a dimension warp."

"Oooh, you mean like on Star Trek: The Next Generation?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Do you watch it? Do you remember that episode where Picard was captured by the Cardassians?"

"Yeah! Wasn't that one two episodes?"

"Yes, it-"

They were stopped by a muffled scream from Hermione.

"Apparently, whoever put the Silencio charm on her needs to work on their Charms a bit more," Dumbledore said, amused.

"But Professor, you were the one who put the charm on her, when she started using really foul language," said Ron.

"Well, then apparently I need to work on my Charms," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry and Ron like they were complete idiots.

"But-Professor-"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron looked down. "Never mind," he muttered.

"But, Professor, what are we going to do about Hermione?"

Dumbledore looked amused. (A/N: This seems to be a common look for him, doesn't it?) "Why, nothing, Mr. Potter. We are simply going to wait."

"But Professor!" the boys said in unison.

"I'm sorry, but as of right now, there's nothing I can do. We must wait until the Ms. Grangers, on both sides, do the exact same thing at the exact same time. Then I know of a spell to return them to their proper dimensions. But until then, I believe this Ms. Granger needs lessons on what to do here."

"Who's going to give them to her?" Ron asked in all innocence.

Harry saw the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye and groaned. "We are," he said.


	4. Audiences with the King

Disclaimer: Nothing referred to in this chapter that has been copyrighted is mine.

A/N: I'm baaack! Didja miss me? Huh? Huh? Anyway, terribly sorry. Between Christmas break, during which I have no Internet, and papers and homework and those AWFUL week-before-break-tests--I had no time to update! And writer's block didn't help any, either. So, here's the next chapter, entitled, predictably,

Chapter Four: Audiences with the King

In which Hermione has no idea what she's doing, sees an unwelcome familiar face, and trips over her own feet at least twice.

Dressed in a cloth of silver gown, with altogether too much sapphire jewelry weighing her down, Hermione attempted to hold her head up high while walking into the throne room. Unfortunately, as this meant she couldn't see her feet, she tripped. Over nothing.

Pretending nothing had happened, she continued walking into the chamber. She swept a beautiful curtsy in front of the king (that had taken her four hours of practicing last night to perfect) and walked up the three steps to her own, smaller version of the king's throne. As the first petitioner came forward, she tucked her ankles together and prepared to listen. But as he droned on and on about fishing rights on his lord's property, she found herself drifting off to sleep.

She jerked awake when the king clapped his hands together and stood. She stood with him, and he announced, "Luncheon is ready!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione found herself seated between the king and an old man that leered at her, pinched her leg, and then proceeded to fall asleep in his soup. The king leaned over to her and whispered, "That's the Duke of Mournedealth. We usually let him do anything he wants to."

Hermione whispered back angrily, "He pinched my leg!"

The king said, "If he does it again, slap his hand. Then he can't complain about it without saying he was in inappropriate places in the first place."

He continued, "You know, he's being considered as a possible marriage match for you, and it would be very advantageous."

Hermione looked at him in shock.

He grinned and said, "Just kidding."

Hermione let out her breath with a _whoosh_.

"Don't scare me like that again!" she hissed.

But this did open her eyes to the fact that that she was now a prize on the marriage market, and she would have virtually no say in what happened to her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After luncheon, she sat back down in her little throne and pretended she was paying attention. As her mind drifted, something startled her out of her reverie.

"Excuse me," she said, "but would you mind repeating that, sir?"

He said, "I requested the king to allow me the use of his library, as I am stuck in the wrong dimension and wish to find out how to return to my own."

Hermione lifted her head up and looked at him. REALLY looked at him.

"Malfoy?!" she exclaimed.

"Granger?!" he sputtered in return.

Then, in unison, "You, too?"


	5. Exposing Mr Trebond

A/N: There is a friend of mine sitting on my bed drinking Fanta. Someone make her go away.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and "I Ain't Superstitious" aren't mine.

* * *

Chapter Five: Exposing Mr. Trebond

"Malfoy?!" she exclaimed.

"Granger?!" he sputtered in return.

Then, in unison, "You, too?"

* * *

Hermione paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

"Will you stop it already?" Malfoy growled. "It's giving me a headache."

Hermione stopped, chewed absently on a fingernail, and began again.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

After she had smoothly covered up her little verbal slip in the throne room ("I, uh, well, you see…") she had persuaded her fa-the king to allow Malfoy into the library, and to allow her to join him.

So here they were.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

"Granger!" Malfoy finally exploded. "STOP!"

"Oh, my apologies," said Hermione sarcastically. "Am I grating on your fragile little nerves?"

"This isn't the time for this," Malfoy said wearily. "We are stuck in an alternate dimension, there's nothing in this library that's going to get us out of it, and our counterparts are probably driving Hogwarts mad."

Hermione froze. Counterpart. _Her_ counterpart. Was in Hogwarts. With her face. Responding to her name. Doing her classwork.

_DOING HER CLASSWORK!!!_

"AHHH! We have to get back NOW, do you hear me?! NOW!!" she roared, picking Malfoy up by his lace collar and shaking him.

"What got you in such a frenzy all the sudden?" Malfoy asked, attempting to remove her hands from his shirt collar.

Hermione sank to the floor and whimpered, unfortunately dragging Malfoy with her. "My classwork," she moaned. "My grades. I'm going to FAIL!!"

Malfoy finally succeeded in disentangling himself from Hermione and stood. "Granger," he said firmly, "I'm sure the teachers won't count off your grade because you were in a different dimension."

Hermione looked up at him with a look of utter misery on her face.

"Fine," he sighed. "We'll look again."

* * *

At Hogwarts 

Malfoy screamed. "I want my mommy!" He screamed again.

Normally, in a seventeen year old boy, this would be frowned upon. But, as the boy who screamed it was not seventeen, it could be excused.

Crabbe and Goyle looked in confusion at the six year old sitting between them, as he alternated piercing screams and wails for his mommy.

Crabbe said, "Uh, Goyle, maybe we should take him to Snape."

Goyle said, "OK, Crabbe."

So off they trooped, Crabbe dragging a screaming Malfoy-look-alike behind him.

As they went into the dungeons, Malfoy began to quiet as he saw the dripping walls and the fungi growing on the ceiling.

He even began to skip.

When they arrived at Snape's door, he was singing, "Ain't afraid of the shadows, I like the dark anyway, and that's a fact!"

When Snape opened his door, however, his song changed to, "Black bats flying away…"

"Yes, Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Um," "Well," "Y'see,"

"This is Malfoy." Crabbe explained in a rush.

"Ah. Thank you, Crabbe, Goyle. Run along now."

"Yes, Professor Snape."

As the two lumbered back down the hallway, Snape ushered the young Malfoy inside.

Malfoy looked at him in utter terror.

Snape sighed. "I give up," he muttered. "This one's Dumbledore's."

* * *

As Malfoy sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in Dumbledore's office happily sucking a lemon drop, Professors Snape and Dumbledore conferred in low whispers. 

Snatches could be heard.

"…his father…" "…forget father…" "…Dark Lord…" "…different dimension…" "…with Granger…"

Finally, they turned around, (much to the relief of Mr. Malfoy, as his lemon drop was long gone) and Professor Dumbledore said, "Well, Mr. Malfoy—"

"My name's not Malfoy!" Malfoy announced. "It's Trebond!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, Mr. Trebond, your father decided to send you on a long vacation without-er-telling you. So you are at Hogwarts, and you are going to stay here until he comes to pick you up. Why don't you go with this nice young lady-" a Ravenclaw prefect had appeared at the door- "and she'll get you settled in."

"OK," said Mr. Mal-er, Trebond congenially. "But he," he pointed at Professor Snape, "needs to wear more color!"

And with that, he walked away with the Ravenclaw prefect.

* * *

A/N: So...Whatcha think? Huh? Huh? You know how to tell me! 


	6. TICKLE!

Disclaimer: Draco: Come DOWN here.

Kat: No! You can't make me!

Draco: NOW! Or no fun tonight! (I like _tickling_ Draco-I'm only fifteen! Geez, people!)

Kat: All right…climbs off refrigerator and begins to recite in a monotone Harry Potter is not mine. Nor are any references to Mercedes Lackey you may find in this fic. Anything else I may happen to mention that does not belong to me does not belong to me. switches to 'hyper voice' Now can we have fun? Huh? Huh?

PS: Hermione has a bit of a potty mouth in this chapter. I assure you she is justified.

A/N: The only good thing about exams is that they always give me tons of free time. Thus, I present to you…

Chapter Six: TICKLE!

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, Mr. Trebond, your father decided to send you on a long vacation without-er-telling you. So you are at Hogwarts, and you are going to stay here until he comes to pick you up. Why don't you go with this nice young lady-" a Ravenclaw prefect had appeared at the door- "and she'll get you settled in."

"OK," said Mr. Mal-er, Trebond congenially. "But he," he pointed at Professor Snape, "needs to wear more color!"

And with that, he walked away with the Ravenclaw prefect.

* * *

Hermione was very close to tearing her hair in frustration. It was approximately one in the morning, and Malfoy had fallen asleep hours ago. Only her concern for her grades had kept her awake and researching, with very few results. Jen had popped her head in a few hours ago, "making sure m'lady was all right," and no one had been looking for her since. She realized that it was probably time to go to sleep, as she had audiences again the next morning, but she couldn't stop looking through aged tomes trying to find some way back to her beloved Hogwarts.

The only problem was, there was nothing here.

Don't get me wrong, it was a very extensive library, for a Muggle. And that was the problem.

It belonged to a Muggle.

She couldn't really have expected it to contain magic or even references to the art, out of a superstitious frame, of course, but it was still horribly frustrating. And having to watch Draco drool on the scarlet armchair didn't help either.

On second thought…

Hermione decided it was time to relieve some of her tension. She looked around for the quill she had been writing with, and carefully cleaned the ink off it. She straightened the barbs and stealthily crept towards Draco.

He twitched. She froze and watched him carefully.

He muttered, "I don't like clowns, Daddy."

She stifled a giggle and tiptoed on. As soon as she got within tickling reach, she brushed under his nose with the feather. He groaned and rolled over, the movement ending with him lying upside down in the chair. His shirt slid down, revealing a pale-as-snow chest and a fabulous set of abs. Hermione grinned.

Perfect.

She began running the feather along his ribs, pausing every once in a while to watch him attempt to get away from the sensation. She then ran it up and down his neck, watching him squirm.

He grabbed her wrist.

She shrieked.

He laughed.

She slapped.

Draco, of course.

He began to tickle her unmercifully, somehow seeming to know it was worst on the soles of her feet and down her sides. When she curled up in a ball, protecting her sides, he could get to her feet, and when she thrashed helplessly, getting her feet away from him, he ran his fingers along her sides.

"Draco – Malfoy – stop – now!" she squeaked.

"Say 'I beg for mercy from the Almighty Draco Malfoy, The Sex God of Hogwarts!" he replied.

"No – way!" she panted.

He sighed, and the tickle torture doubled. Hermione couldn't stand it anymore.

"Mercy!" she pleaded.

"Uh-uh, it's 'I beg for mercy from the Almighty Draco Malfoy, The Sex God of Hogwarts!'"

"I – beg – for – mercy – from – the – Almighty – Draco – Malfoy – The – Sex – God – of – Hogwarts!" she forced out in between laughing fits.

He stopped abruptly, and she could feel the blood rushing back to its proper place. Now that she could think again, she was angry.

Very angry.

Draco gulped. He had only seen that look on her face once in his life-the day in third year she slapped him.

He began to back up as Hermione advanced on him. Sweat ran down his back as he remembered how the handprint she had given him had stayed for two days, and he resorted to using concealment charms on it so no one would know the filthy mudblood had scored a hit. He remembered how his father had visited, and had somehow seen straight through the charms. He remembered his father asking who gave it to him. He remembered getting a matching one on the other cheek after admitting it was the mudblood.

He wrenched his mind back to his current predicament. Hermione was obviously not pleased, and he really couldn't think of any way to get out of this one.

"Um…I beg for mercy from Hermione Granger, the sex goddess of Hogwarts?" he tried tentatively.

As Hermione's eyes began to bulge out of her head, Draco reflected that this might not have been the wisest course.

As she began foaming at the mouth, he reflected that if one's life passed before one's eyes right before one died, why hadn't it started yet?

As she began to turn a lovely shade of purple, he saw his mother, looking approximately seventeen years younger, begin to toss a blonde infant above her head, cooing all the while. He mentally relaxed. So there it was. Draco then tuned back in to real life.

Just in time to hear, "YOU BASTARD! YOU INVADED MY BUBBLE! THAT IS _MY_ PERSONAL SPACE, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Draco feebly protested, "But-"

"NO BUTS! I WAS MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS WHEN _YOU_-"

Draco found that Hermione had been cut off rather abruptly.

By his lips.

She melted into him, returning the kiss. He was in heaven, when-

"OW!"

Smacks across the face do not belong in heaven.

Of course, he was rapidly deciding that the girl who had given it to him was no angel.

Quite the opposite.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Hermione sputtered.

Draco winked.

Hermione sniffed and stormed off to bed.

Draco slid down the library wall, and proceeded to relive the kiss over and over and over.

* * *

He woke up with his head at an odd angle the next morning. He groaned and rubbed his neck. He realized he was in a guest room, with deep violet wall hangings and cobalt rugs. As a matter of fact, the entire room seemed to be themed along the lines of 'how dark can colors get?' Draco was sitting up in a bed which was covered in a somber shade of green.

He looked around and shivered. This room was depressing. He pulled the ebony cord that hung by his bed.

The door opened, and a petite blonde girl stepped in. She looked to be about eighteen.

He asked, "Do you know where my clothes are?"

She replied timidly, "The mistress has them."

"The _mistress_! Who's the _mistress_?"

"Milady Hermione."

"That bitch has my clothes?"

"I will go and get them right now, sir!" the girl squeaked. She ran out the door.

* * *

When Jen arrived panting at her door, Hermione knew it had been a bad idea to have her wait on Draco.

"Milady, he wants his clothes," she reported. "And do I _have_ to be all timid around him?"

"Mmmm, for now," Hermione said. "Jen, why don't you tell him I'll-_watch_ it, Maeve-be there in a moment."

* * *

When the girl next stepped into his room, she had just enough time to curtsy and say, "Milady is coming, milord," before Hermione swept into the room.

She looked him critically up and down. "Jen, go fetch some of my father's old clothes."

When the girl returned, Draco was thoroughly uncomfortable. Not responding to any of his attempts at conversation, she simply sat in a nearly-black scarlet chair and stared at him.

Jen carried a large pile of fabric that seemed to consist mostly of lace and satin. Hermione dug through the mound until she held up a pair of gray hose and a green tunic.

"This will do. Jen, make sure he is properly coiffed and presentable. Bring him to the throne room and place him on a stool to the left side of my chair." As an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and Jen, be yourself."

Draco stared after her, shocked. Surely she didn't mean-

His thoughts were cut off by the maid yanking the tunic over his head and tying the belt just a shade too tight.

He said, "Girl, adjust this belt. It's too tight."

The formerly timid maid snapped, "Deal with it."

As she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the hall, he wondered. How many more surprises could this place hold?

* * *

AN: I know they wouldn't have used slang in the 1400's. I like it anyway.

Curious question: Has anyone ever wondered how Jack Sparrow and Lucius Malfoy would react if placed in a small room together for a week? I've been thinking about starting something like that.

Oh, and sorry there was no Mini!Malfoy or Deranged!Hermione in this chapter. I've run out of things to do with them and would much appreciate suggestions.


	7. Mandy Finds her Motherly Instincts

A/N: Hello! It's no longer Spring Break and I am officially back at the boarding school! (And believe me, it's nothing like Hogwarts. I mean, we have exams three times a year, and the prefects actually keep order, and there's no house system, and-shutting up now.) That means that hopefully I will have more time to update and give you lots of long chapters! Yay!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, do you _honestly_ think I would be sitting in a dorm room writing this? Wouldn't I be flying off to Majorca or someplace interesting, instead of boring old Virginia? THINK, lawyer-type people!

Chapter Seven: Do You Really Want Me To Do That?

Hermione sat beside the king, looking dreadfully, horrendously bored. Draco knew if it were him, he would probably be asleep and drooling by now. The only thing that was even remotely interesting was the get-ups the peasants thought appropriate for an audience with their ruler.

For example, the current farmwife was dressed in a red, shapeless-well, shirtwaist, he supposed was the best name for it-and a lurid purple skirt. His eyes hurt just looking at her, and he could imagine how Hermione felt, sitting up there all day with her only relief coming in the form of lunch, where old men made moves on her and young ones looked snobbishly away.

He remembered the last lunch he'd taken with the Court, yesterday's, and remembered Hermione asking the young lord of-what was it? Alta?-the young lord of Alta if he liked the flower arrangements. Alta had replied, "Yes, I do. I assume your housekeeper picked them out, as you are much too provincial to understand the importance of flowers."

Hermione had simply looked disappointed, but Draco was ready to stand up and challenge the kid to whatever passed for a duel in this world. He was only prevented by Hermione's father, who leaned over the table and verbally sliced Alta into pieces. Draco would be surprised if he ever showed his face at court again. Of course, if he did, it was Draco's turn to slice. And not verbally, either. The fencing lessons since the age of five had taught him quite a bit more than the average teenage feudal lord would know about the art of swordplay.

Draco wasn't sure if Hermione would appreciate that, though. After all, the only thing she'd said to him since that day a week ago in the library was "Get your elbows off the table!" Not that they'd been on the table. Of course not. Malfoys _never_ put their elbows on the table.

He sighed wistfully and gazed at Hermione. She was a vision in pink, from the pale pink diamonds in her tiara to the deep pink trim on the edge of her skirt. His mind began to drift into his fantasy world.

"_Hermione, I-I-I think I love you." _

"_Oh, Draco!"_

_Loud kissing sounds._

And that was pretty much the extent of that.

* * *

"Okay, Hermione," Ron said slowly. "No one is a commoner here. No one is royalty here. We are all equal." 

Hermione glared at him over her gag. She yelled something that could have been "A bee's on your bow!" but was most likely, "Untie me now!"

Harry sighed. "Ron, I just don't think we're getting through to her."

Ron glared at him. "Really? What was your first clue?"

Harry said, "Well, I think it was when she started mumbling something about beheading us all."

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes.

Harry said, "Geez, Ron, I was being sarcastic!"

Ron rolled his eyes again and turned his attention back to Hermione, who had decided that perhaps the best way to get herself out of this situation was to bang the chair legs on the floor.

Hard.

As a matter of fact, Ron noted absently as he rushed to stop her, it was making rather interesting patterns in the floor. They looked kind of like letters. If he squinted hard enough, they seemed to spell _Help me I've been kid_. Ron scratched his head after he moved Hermione to a safer location on the stone part of the classroom floor. Did she really think she'd been kidnapped? If so, it would explain a lot of very interesting things that had been unexplainable until now.

Ron reviewed that thought. He knew there was something wrong with it, but—oh, bugger it all, did it really matter?

What did matter, in Harry's words, was that they just weren't getting through to her. Dumbledore said it was probably because she was, after all, seventeen, and had been raised ordering people around. In any case, she couldn't be let loose on the school until she had some idea of what was expected of her.

* * *

Mandy Brocklehurst sighed and shook her head. First, she had been summoned to Dumbledore's office with absolutely no explanation given. Then, she had been informed that she was to take this child (no, he did _not_ strangely resemble Draco Malfoy) to the most luxurious guest room in the castle. When she had arrived, the child (who, thank you Miss Brocklehurst, did _not_ strangely resemble Draco Malfoy) had informed her that his teddy bear was a necessary aid to his sleeping capabilities. Not in those words, of course. So she had Summoned his teddy bear, which, in spite of it looking the worse for wear, the child (how many times do I have to tell you, Miss Brocklehurst, he looked_ nothing_ like Draco Malfoy!) had snatched away, curled up on the bed, and fallen asleep. 

Then, this morning, an owl had arrived for her informing her that the child (for the last time, Miss Brocklehurst, he bears _no_ similarity in appearance to a young Draco Malfoy!) was now her charge. And, what was more, he was approximately four years old, he lived with a set of relatively well-off parents (_nothing_ like the Malfoys, Miss Brocklehurst), and would expect as certain number of things done for him. She was gently, but firmly, to inform him that if he wanted it done, it would have to be done by himself. She shook her head. It's a good thing it was a Saturday.

She looked the portrait of Dracula in the face and said firmly, "Open up, you bat-bitten, pasty mosquito!"

The painted Count shook his head and sighed morosely. "Did you _have_ to let him pick the password?" he asked plaintively.

Mandy rolled her eyes. This painting was known for being a whiner, and she had no idea why the Headmaster had picked it to guard the most luxurious sleeping quarters in the castle.

"Just open up."

The painting slowly swung inward, revealing a small, tow-headed little boy (For Head Girl, Miss Brocklehurst, you seem to have a remarkable inability to assimilate information) that was sucking his thumb and holding on to his teddy bear for dear life. Mandy sighed and stood there for a moment, reflecting on what her children would look like. They would probably have Anthony's beautiful hazel eyes and her sensuous lips. Hopefully, they wouldn't inherit his sense of reckless courage, or her perfectionism, but they would still be perfect even if they did.

She was snapped out of her daydream by the adorable yawn coming from the child (_Miss Brocklehurst!_). He blinked sleepily up at her and said, "Mommy?"

Her heart almost burst. She said, "No, sweetheart, I'm not your mommy."

His face screwed up and he began to cry. Mandy could distinguish the words, "I want my mommy!" every few sobs. She sat down on his bed and pulled him into her lap, rocking him back and forth until his cried subsided. She continued to sway, lost in thought, until she heard a small, gentle snore come from the warm body in her arms. She cradled him closer and stood up.

This child, by God (whether he resembled Draco Malfoy or not), was not going to sleep alone in that huge, cold bed anymore. He was going to sleep in her room, by or in her bed, and if Blaise had any problems with that, he knew where he could stick them.

* * *

Back and forth. 

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Draco sighed. "Hermione, we've already been over this."

Hermione simply glared.

She still hadn't spoken to him, despite the fact that they were locked in the library together at least two hours a day now. She seemed to get more frantic by the day, searching through books completely unrelated to their subject. For example, the one she had thrown at his head the other day was entitled, "_A Treatise on Japane, China, and Othere Countryes of the Oriyent._" It was beginning to get pathetic.

He shifted in his seat. Muggles may not be good for much, but they sure knew how to make a damn uncomfortable chair with the best of wizardkind. He shifted again. There was something poking him in the seat.

Finally, he stood up in exasperation. He reached down, lifted up the cushion of the chair, and pulled out a slim book. He glanced at the front and tossed it onto a table. Then he began to walk towards a bookshelf.

He stopped short. Hadn't the cover of that book—

Draco raced back to the table and picked up the book again. It was called, "_A Liste of the Propertyes of Variouse Magickal Herbes, with a Concentratione on Those Used in Intradimensionale Potions._"

Draco's mouth dropped open. This was too much of a coincidence. Someone in this castle was magical, and had deliberately switched Hermione and him from his dimension to their own. But why? Neither of them had any extraordinary powers that he knew of, besides Hermione's to be annoying even when she wasn't speaking.

Speaking of Hermione, she would have his head if he didn't show her this.

"Hermione!" he called.

She came, still silent, but apparently he had aroused her curiosity. She peered over his shoulder—

And almost strangled him.

"Ouch—yes—I know I'm attractive, but really!" he said indignantly, as she released her hold on him.

And reached up and gave him one of the most breathtaking kisses of his life.

He touched his lips and gaped while Hermione curled up in a chair with the book.

He looked up. "Um, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

She looked up briefly, only to be pounced on by Draco. As she rolled out of the chair, giggling, the book stayed, waiting to be read by a person who, hopefully, wasn't being mercilessly tortured by a feather at the same time.

* * *

A/N: Ahhh, a witch or wizard in the castle! Do you know who it is? Review and tell me! 


	8. The BOOK

Disclaimer: Yeah, it's mine, yadda yadda-

Draco: Kat…

ME: (pouting) But Drakie-

Draco: AHHH! Don't call me that and you do NOT own Harry Potter! That is the wonderful work of JK Rowling herself, and she's done a much better job with the characters that you have!

ME: (cries)

Draco: Aww…Kat…

DeeCohan: Yeah, I love Jen too. She's actually based off the person who lives one room over from me, although a little less eccentric. Which gives you an idea of what the real Jen is like!

Dracochick: Nope, sorry. You're gonna find out more, though, in this chapter.

I know I'm making Hermione/Draco move a little fast, but they're stuck in a different dimension with each other, and they don't have much choice but to get along. And besides, I've personally thought Hermione and Draco have always had the whole love-hate relationship thing going, and Draco's just kinda forgetting the 'hate' part right now.

* * *

Chapter 8: The BOOK 

Hermione yawned. She rolled over, and snuggled sleepily against something warm. It was firm, and rather noisy.

"Ron," she yawned, "Stop making that God-awful noise."

"Who are you calling Weasley?" a deep, male voice said, amused.

Hermione sat bolt upright—and hit her head on a bookshelf.

"Ow," she said experimentally.

The voice chuckled.

Hermione's memory slowly began to trickle back. Something about…different dimension… ferret…feathers…maid…luncheon…library…book…wizard…Draco…DRACO!

She looked up.

Sure enough, there sat the ferret in all his glory, obviously suppressing a laugh at her predicament.

Speaking of her predicament, where WAS she? Well, she'd hit her head on the bookshelf, which meant, most likely,

"I'm in the library!" she said.

Draco laughed again. "Any more bits of wisdom you'd like to share with us? Perhaps the color of your hair, or the number of ears you have?"

"Eh, shut up, ferret," she said, rolling over and levering herself into a sitting position. Merlin, she was _sore_.

"Why, Milady! I thought we were past the namecalling business!" he said, affecting a hurt expression and placing his hand on his chest.

"Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea, um…_albino_ ferret! We will never be past the namecalling, um…pasty vampire!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Since when do _you_ quote Shakespeare?" Hermione shot back. "He was a Muggle!"

Draco smirked. "Sure?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Shut up and make yourself useful," she said, extending a hand.

Draco grasped it and pulled her to her feet. Straightening her gown, Hermione remembered the book they had found.

"Draco?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he replied, placing his hands on the small of his back and bending backwards.

"Where'd you leave the book we found last night?"

"It should be on that chair."

Hermione walked over to the chair and picked up the book. She leafed through it, stopping at page eighty-five (_Where to Gathere the Flaxweede for the Firste Full Moone_). She pulled out a piece of parchment that had been placed between the pages. It read, "_Rebmemer, tseb elpuoc rof gnihctiws: Ocard Yofalm dna Enoimreh Regnarg. Tsum dnif yaw ot eb no S'emoimreh ffats nehw ehs sevirra."_

"Well," she said.

Draco looked over her shoulder. "Well what?"

Hermione looked more closely at the parchment. "Apparently someone planned to drop us here. I'm not sure why, but there it is." She gestured at the parchment.

Draco looked at her in disbelief. "But that's just a load of gibberish!"

Hermione sighed. "No, it's not. It's in reverse. See, just here? If _Ocard_ is switched, it becomes Draco."

Draco's eyes traveled over the letter one more time. "Oh," he said. "But that would mean…someone _wanted _to switch us!"

Hermione placed two fingers to her temples and applied pressure in slow, even circles. As she rubbed, she said slowly, "That's what I just said."

Draco looked sheepish. "Oh."

"In any case," she continued, "that means that someone on my staff is a witch."

"Why not a wizard?"

"Because the king won't let any males near his precious, inordinately desirable baby girl."

"Oh."

"Is that your word of the day or something?"

"Shut up."

"Don't wanna. Not gonna."

"SHUT UP!"

"You caa-aan't make me!"

"AHHH!"

(insert sounds of scuffle here)

Draco moaned. "Truce?"

"Agreed."

"Now what?"

"We go interview my staff."

* * *

"If you please. Sir, I've not been in the library since my Rupert, may he rest in peace, Sir, and the old king, damn him to the depths of hell, disappeared on some madcap journey, Sir, to find the Fountain of Youth, Sir. 

Draco looked at the current maid skeptically. "So, what you're saying is, you have no idea what I'm talking about."

The maid (she had to be at least seventy) replied with a sniff, "If you please, that's what I just said, Sir."

Draco sighed. "Alright. Dismissed."

As the ancient maid tottered out the door, he slumped down in his chair and began to mimic Hermione's earlier headache-relieving motions. He himself had interviewed fifteen laundry women, seven bathwomen, twenty ladies-in-waiting, and one of the two main maids that serviced Hermione. He shuddered to think how many more there were.

Hermione came into the room, dusting off her hands and smiling happily. "All done!"

Draco looked up at her, flabbergasted. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"YES!" Draco jumped out of his seat and twirled Hermione around, laughing.

"But—Draco—," she said, trying futilely to get out of his arms.

"Yes?"

"We still don't know who did it."

"Oh." Draco stopped spinning, and stood still. "Well, then what was the point?"

Hermione sighed. "I dunno. I think we should leave the book out, and see if anyone touches it."

Draco shook his head. "No, the curiosity factor would be a problem."

Hermione brightened. "I know! Let's get handwriting samples from all the servants!"

Draco's shoulders slumped. "_All_ of them?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh, no."

* * *

"Look, lady, just write _Hermione Granger_ right here!" 

"But why?"

"Yours is not to question why; yours is but to do or die!"

The woman sitting at the table stiffened. "Die, sir?" She immediately began scribbling.

Draco sighed. Forty-eight down, seventeen to go.

Hermione looked at him slyly. "I didn't know you quoted US army slogans. After all, the President is a Muggle."

Draco smirked. "Sure?"

Hermione sighed.

Draco called, "Next!"

Twenty minutes later, they had finished all the handwriting samples. Hermione took the scrap of parchment they had found in the book and laid it beside the sheet of paper the samples were on. She moved it down the row, muttering, "Nope…maybe…nope…definitely not…nope…" and the like.

Draco chewed on his fingernails and stared at the ceiling. He soon fell asleep.

He was jerked roughly out if his afternoon nap by Hermione yelling triumphantly, "Got it!"

"Who? Who?" he asked suddenly all ears.

She looked down at the paper, ran her finger down the entries…and suddenly stopped.

"No, this can't be right!"

"Well, who does it say?"

Hermione looked up at him with betrayed eyes. "Maeve."

A/N: Review review!


End file.
